


Wrong!

by AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, XKCD - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha/pseuds/AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can't sleep. And then there's porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Inspired by this xkcd comic strip: http://xkcd.com/386  
> Beta: gozadreams @ Livejournal. All the love <3

John was startled awake by his own loud snore.

It took him a moment to figure out where he was. The sound that had come out of him still echoed in his brain. He hoped Sherlock hadn't heard that. John turned on his belly and pressed his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

He thought hazily that he was colder on one side than he ought to be. John reached out with one hand, petting the covers to his right and finding no one beside him.

He pushed himself up to his knees. Rubbing his eyes, he stretched slowly, and stared blinking at the empty space on the bed.

"Sherlock?" He called out sleepily.

Sighing deeply, he bent forward, still on his knees, and pressed his forehead against the mattress.

"Sherlock?" He cried out again, voice still thick with sleep. Turning his head to one side, he looked at the clock. It was four in the morning, what was Sherlock doing up so early? He distinctly remembered them falling asleep together.

With great reluctance he drew himself up from the bed. John yawned hugely, scratching himself in a distracted sort of way. He pulled on his pants and made his way into the sitting room.

His lover was sitting by the desk, John's laptop in front of him, typing up a storm. John didn't bother saying anything about the unsolicited use of his laptop. Sherlock's computer was probably too far away, on the other side of the room or something like that. 

"Sherlock," John mumbled, "It's bloody four in the morning, why aren't you sleeping?"

"I can't sleep John," Sherlock said, frowning at the screen, "Someone is _wrong_ on the Internet."

John blinked, and looked over Sherlock's shoulder, while he continued to type without pause.

"In that case, you're never going to sleep again, are you?" John replied, and bent down to rest his chin on Sherlock's shoulder, "Who are you writing to, anyway?"

"rockfan_x1987," Sherlock replied without pausing, "He is being deliberately obtuse. And his grammar is atrocious."

"How did you figure it's a he?" John asked.

Sherlock actually stopped typing, "John, _please._ "

John snorted, "Right."

"Oh look, he's made himself a new account. And he's coming to his own defence. Typical," Sherlock muttered.

"Hmm, fascinating," John murmured, nuzzling Sherlock's neck, "You smell nice."

"Oh! Oh, he's leaving. He's had enough, John; I've won," Sherlock said in triumph, "ha!" He reached and grabbed John's arm, pulling him around the chair and into Sherlock's lap.

"Brilliant," John said in amusement, planting a closed mouthed kiss on Sherlock's lips. He looped his arms around the other man's neck, although he tried not to blow too much air in his face, sleep breath and all that.

Sherlock pulled back with a frown, "You don't say that often enough anymore."

John adopted a thoughtful expression, "Really?" he said, "I'll have to make up for it, I suppose," He leaned forward and pressed his lips between Sherlock's eyes, kissing away his frown lines.

"You're brilliant," John said, "Proper genius, you are. Even if you spend your time arguing with tits on the Internet," he dropped down to kiss the tip of Sherlock's nose, "you're the most gorgeous man I know, and cleverer than I'd ever thought possible."

John paused, contemplating, "Is that turning you on?"

Sherlock hummed in approval, already half hard beneath his dressing gown. John scooted up and tugged on his belt, pulling the gown open. He raised one leg over Sherlock's thigh, and moved to straddle him properly. The chair squeaked in protest.

Sherlock reached into the slit in John's boxers and pulled out his hardening cock, standing so quickly to attention. He pressed them against one another, groaning in pleasure. John grabbed the back of the chair with both hands, bringing them closer together.

No longer caring about his morning breath, John drew their mouths together, half growling in pleasure and swallowing Sherlock's amused chuckle. John pulled back to spit in his hand, joining Sherlock's hand on their naked flesh. He pressed his mouth against Sherlock's once again, kissing him sloppily and hurriedly.

A small chime from Sherlock's inbox was heard in the background. Sherlock blinked one eye open, trying to surreptitiously look at the laptop screen behind John. He reached around John, using the keyboard one-handed.

John pulled back from the kiss and looked at Sherlock in exasperation, "Sherlock," He sighed.

"One moment, John," Sherlock said, voice thick with arousal yet somehow still distracted, "I should have known he'd want the last word." He growled, typing fast and somewhat sloppily.

John laughed (not giggled, thank-you-very-much) into Sherlock's neck. His life, just… his life. Even he couldn't quite believe it sometimes.

"Done!" Sherlock announced with a grin, hitting the 'Send' key with a flourish John wouldn't have thought possible coming from any other man.

"Now," Sherlock said, "Where were we?"

John looked down pointedly, then wrapped his hand around their cocks, applying a bit more pressure than necessary, just enough to make Sherlock moan a little wantonly.

"John," Sherlock breathed, hips thrusting up against him.

"You like that?" John said thickly, mouthing the words on Sherlock's cheek. His tongue darted out to quickly lick at Sherlock's skin. John rutted against him, rubbing them together with little care or finesse. Sherlock's hands were all over his body. The chair squeaked with their movements, making tortured little sounds before cracking loudly.

They were half-way down before John noticed the ground was coming closer.

"Holy-" He gasped, as the chair fell backwards, crashing. They hit the floor with a bang that took their breath away, the chair finally falling apart under the weight of two grown men. Sherlock looked up at him in surprise, arms wrapped around John protectively as they lay on the floor in a tangle of limbs and wood. Actual wood, the chair being rather flimsy as it turned out.

"Ow," Sherlock said, staring wide eyed up at John. Above them John could hear the chime of Sherlock's inbox again.

He laughed softly, and kissed Sherlock, tangled limbs and all. To be honest, the fall could have injured them in rather compromising ways. The fact that it hadn't – surely that was a cause for celebration?

_My life,_ John thought without a single regret.


End file.
